


Under the Influence

by Xenobotanist



Series: You Came to Me [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Friends to... Something else, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Elim Garak, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: Julian visits Garak after a failed date.The only problem is, he's been drinking, and Garak may not be ready to hear what he has to say.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: You Came to Me [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011447
Comments: 17
Kudos: 92





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> Are we due for fluff? I feel like we're due for fluff.  
> It seems like each new version in this series gets longer, lol. This is another take on how Garak and Julian might have come together, but it still retains elements of the first two.

Garak watched Dr. Bashir stroll into Quark’s with his newest romantic interest du jour. She appeared to be a half-Human half-Andorian hybrid, with skin an even icier blue than the palest Bolian. Her hair was long, silky, and shockingly white, her antennae a little shorter than average. She was somewhat attractive, at least by Garak’s standards, but he decided it must have been the purple eyes that caught the doctor’s attention. Guls knew there wasn’t much _behind_ them to speak of.

Per usual, Julian was expounding on his most recent medical discovery, and she was hanging on his arm and every word, nodding excitedly. She clearly had no idea what he was talking about, but that didn’t seem to put him off.

They seated themselves nearby, and as soon as the doctor spotted Garak, he waved amicably. The tailor nodded back with a polite smile and resolved to leave within the next five minutes. He had no desire to watch another successful (or even failed) attempt at seduction from his lunchtime companion. This was… what? The third one this month?

He sipped his kanar and glanced about the bar for any sort of distraction. There were no clandestine deals being hashed out, no shady political intrigue, not even some inebriated bigot spouting off drivel that might benefit from a few drops of sleeping elixir deposited in his glass. Quark’s was growing dull.

Julian and his date received their drinks and began a conversation. Garak knew enough Federation Standard that he could read lips, and discerned that the blue-skinned tart was named _Feema._ There was no Cardassian equivalent to those syllables, but in Bajoran, the term loosely translated to ‘empty.’ He smirked to himself. 

To Garak’s bewilderment, the gregarious couple suddenly grabbed their glasses, rose from their table, and approached his. Without even asking permission, the doctor pulled up a chair for his date and seated himself across from the tailor. 

“Alright Mr. Garak, so Feema and I had a disagreement about something, and I wanted your input on it. _She_ says that Lurians must be a very shy species, because she’s never heard one speak. But _I_ say that Morn hardly ever _stops_ speaking. Now, it’s true that they mostly keep to themselves in the Ionite Nebula, so there isn’t a whole lot of information out there to look this up. Do you know any other Lurians? What do you think?”

Garak thought that he’d rather spend the evening alone than as a third wheel, albeit one whose opinion was valued. However, distaste was never an excuse for poor conduct, so he ignored the question and turned to the half-Andorian. “Dr. Bashir, where are your manners?” He gave the human a sideways _look_ , chiding him for his lapse in social graces. “Hello dear, my name is Garak. And you are?” 

“ _You’re_ Garak? Julian’s told me so much about you! I’m Feema.” The girl smiled sunnily and bowed her head a centimeter, flicking her antennae politely. But then she continued. “I’ve never met a Cardassian before. Now I know why they call you ‘spoonheads!’ You do have a little spoon-thing up there, don’t you? What’s it for?”

Garak blinked twice, mildly affronted. But he’d dealt with her type before. “My dear, I couldn’t _possibly_ tell you upon our first meeting. It would be _highly_ improper.”

The half-Andorian at least had the grace to blush a deeper blue at that, and she turned away to Julian, who had been watching the exchange with rapt attention. Garak could see the gears turning in his studious brain, and knew that their next meal together was going to involve some very interesting and possibly highly personal questions. He’d have to invent some suitably impressive answers.

Julian and Feema soon fell into the usual empty questions and banter of a first date, and Garak mentally prepared to excuse himself for the evening. An appointment perhaps, or some final touches on a suit. Or maybe a hint at something nefarious, like a covert meeting with a “contact,” something to pique the doctor’s interest. 

Regardless of his intentions, Garak remained at least another 45 minutes, because Julian kept glancing at him after almost every comment he made, as if checking for his response, to see if he approved. The tailor hardly wanted to play a part in the evening’s courting ritual... but it also made him absurdly pleased to be receiving so much attention. 

His interested shifted from mildly content to more amused as Julian repeatedly tried steering the conversation with Feema towards literature or philosophy. He made some headway with music, but his companion didn’t seem to have a very wide range of interest. More and more time was spent gesturing to Garak and prompting him to join in the conversation. 

At one point, Feema made a random observation about how _generous_ Ferengi could be, and Julian turned to Garak with his hand over his mouth. They both glanced at Quark, then back at each other, and tried to stifle their laughter without being noticed by their oblivious table-mate.

Garak eventually finished his kanar, and he turned down the offer of a second one. “I really must be going now,” he told the couple. “Thank you for your company. Doctor, I’ll see you at lunch on Fourthday.” 

Julian grabbed his arm excitedly. “Garak, wait! I’ve got a riddle I just came across the other day. Let’s see if either of you can get it.”

Already on his feet, Garak paused and waited.

“What swims all day, walks all night, and can be found on every planet in the galaxy, even the uninhabited ones?” Julian turned to Feema first.

“Um… I don’t know. Shoes?”

The doctor went bug-eyed at that response, and Garak had the suspicion that it was only his innate desire to be liked by everyone that prevented the doctor from performing what his race appropriately named a “facepalm.” He raised his eyebrows at the tailor hopefully. 

Garak smiled smugly at his audience. “Why, anyone who’s read _Vrngarroths’s Tales from the Sea_ knows that one,” he returned. Feema’s eyes and forehead crinkled in confusion. It might have been his imagination, but he thought her antennae might have wilted a little. 

Far from looking disappointed, Julian beamed back at him. “I didn’t know you’d read that! How did you come across it? Which translation did you use? What did you think of the final parable?”

Garak shook his head chidingly, secretly delighted that of the human’s two companions, _he_ seemed to be coming out on top. “Now Doctor. We can save all of that for another day. I’m sure you’ll find _something_ in common with your friend this evening.” Which he hoped implied that he didn’t expect them to find _anything_ in common. Ever.

Of course, that didn’t always dissuade Julian.

Unfortunately.

Garak headed back to his quarters, perturbed about how conflicted he was over the encounter. Despite Feema’s presence, he’d actually enjoyed himself for a while. He kept reflecting back to Julian’s quick grins and knowing glances thrown his way, how one side of his mouth would turn up or his eyes would sparkle. How one time, he’d grabbed Garak’s hand when he was making a point about Klingon opera, and they’d silently locked eyes, remembering an inside joke about the newly-arrived Worf.

Disgusted with his sentimentality, he debated with himself whether to open his own bottle of kanar or simply turn in early for the night.

Dr. Bashir would make a terrible Cardassian, he mused. He didn’t even try to hide his xenophilia. He practically flaunted it! His early obsession with the Trill Jadzia Dax, that brief liaison with the Elaysian (Bora? Milar?)... There had also been a one-quarter-Vulcan ensign from engineering, and lately he’d been seen more and more often in the company of that voluptuous Bajoran dabo girl, Leeta. 

And it seemed as if he was spending less and less time with Garak.

The Cardassian frowned. If his mind was going down _that_ path, then he needed something stronger than kanar. 

He dug out a pocket-sized bottle of Romulan ale, and downed it in one go. It wasn’t enough to compromise his sturdy Cardassian constitution, but it would definitely help him loosen up and fall asleep faster. He washed out the container and set it aside to possibly use for rooting a plant cutting, then made a stop at the refresher. Lastly, he selected sleepwear that was warm and comfortable, probably his least aesthetically pleasing, but it, too, would help him rest more easily. Anything to keep his body relaxed and his mind quiet.

Garak climbed under his covers and thankfully fell asleep almost immediately, only to be jolted awake a few seconds later.

He shot up in bed, automatically alert. 

A glance at the chrono revealed that what had felt like only a moment had in fact been almost two hours. 

The cause of his disturbance was apparent. Someone was holding his door chime, making it trill nonstop. What in the blazing sands…? He sat there for a minute, waiting to see if it stopped. And it did, only to start up again. Fighting back a growl, he briefly considered setting off one of the booby traps rigged in the corridor.

Of course that wasn’t truly feasible, so he went into the main room and addressed the door. “Who’s there? And knock off the racket; some of us are trying to _sleep._ ”

The chime halted, and Dr. Bashir’s voice was transmitted back. “So sorry, Garak! Can I come in? We need to talk.”

His first impulse was to open the door straight away, because only an emergency would make the human so insistent. 

Except Julian didn’t _sound_ like there was an emergency. And he would have just commed the quarters instead of walking all the way there.

“Garak? Please?” There was a short, sharp noise, one that he recognized from the bar as something humans called a ‘hiccup.’ “Hello?”

Oh well. His night was disturbed already, and he _was_ curious what had brought the doctor there at such a late hour.

“Computer, lights on. Come in, Doctor,” he said resignedly, heading for the replicator. He dialed up some Tarkalean tea for his visitor and some redleaf for himself.

He picked up the two mugs and spun around, only to find Julian standing in his way. “Oh. Um. Hi. We need to talk,” the young doctor repeated. His eyes dropped down to the drinks and back up again. 

Garak offered one, and he accepted it, frowning as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. “Where would you like to sit?” he asked the human. “Is this an over the table conversation, or lounging on the sofa?”

Julian cocked his head. “ _Do_ you lounge? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not sit with perfect posture before. Except when you were… sick.” He studied the furniture. “Yes, let’s go to the couch.”

They both took a seat, each in an opposite corner, and Garak waited patiently for Julian to begin. What could he want to talk about? Had he caught Quark doing something shady? Or maybe he _suspected_ the Ferengi was up to something? Could it be an unofficial message from Captain Sisko? He hoped it wasn’t something regarding his health after the last checkup.

On the other hand, Garak had noticed that humans who were inebriated were often under the impression that _everything_ was important, so perhaps it was nothing at all. The doctor might just want to regale him with some story from an interesting patient at the infirmary, or ask his opinion on Odo’s new security measures regarding the escaped Cardassian voles.

Julian set his tea on the table, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for a hint of inspiration on where to begin. His left leg jiggled restlessly. “Garak, we’ve been friends for a while now. Years, even.”

Oh no. Please no.

“I know you’ve seen me with a lot of partners. And-- And lately even more. But they’re just not working out.”

Garak’s stomach dropped. He’d always worried that something like this would happen. The past few hours took on an entirely new context, especially seeing as how Julian was _here_ instead of with his date. He was going to ask his older friend the tailor for seasoned advice on romantic relationships. Or maybe request his help as a “wingman.” Garak started compiling polite refusals.

“Like tonight,” Julian continued, blissfully unaware. “Feema’s a nice girl and all, and everyone just expected me to ask her out, so I did. But it felt like something was missing. Like I was doing something wrong.”

Here it comes.

Julian fidgeted with the cushions, then looked up earnestly. “After you left, everything seemed to go downhill. It wasn’t fun anymore. So… when her friends showed up, I let her go. And I just kept on drinking.”

Garak held back a sigh. He did _not_ like where this was headed. There was no way he could be talked into joining the human on his dates to provide social lubrication. Had Julian really woken him up at 0100 hours for _this_?

“Garak... I, um, I don’t want to keep dating other people. Now matter how much I look around or try new things, they’re just not what I want. I’ve been trying _so hard_ not to think about…” He sighed and hunched in on himself. “They weren’t you. Is this making any sense?”

“I’m afraid not,” Garak answered truthfully, perplexed.

Julian jumped up and started pacing around the room. “Your quarters look nice. I like what you’ve done with the place.” 

Flabbergasted by the change in topic, Garak replied automatically. “Thank you. I do my best on a limited tailor’s income.”

“Oh no, it looks great. Really.” Julian stopped, facing the couch, and looked Garak up and down. “And your pajamas look nice too. They, er, fit you well. Good colors.” He scrunched up his face. “And your hair looks very nice.” But then he grimaced and covered his face. “Oh god, I’ve said ‘nice’ like three times.”

“You _have_ been drinking, Doctor. It’s been known to hamper one’s ability to communicate effectively.” Now being a prime example. 

Dropping his arms, Julian returned to the sofa. But he just stood in front of it for a few seconds in indecision. Surprisingly, he took Garak’s tea out of his hands and set it on the table next to his. 

“Doctor-”

“Could you stand up, please?”

He did, more confused than ever. 

Julian took both of his hands, and because he was completely lost, Garak let him.

“Garak, I… I like you. A lot.” He glanced down. “I think I like you more than everyone else. Maybe even more than Jadzia. And Miles.”

Garak’s hands were growing warm where their skin touched. He peered down too, trying to decipher what was happening. Julian was holding him loosely, but his thumbs were grazing back and forth so delicately, and he gave a brief squeeze. It felt pleasant. Too much so.

“Garak?” Their eyes met. Julian’s were wider than normal, but all of a sudden they were fluttering shut and he was licking his lips and tugging Garak closer… And the tailor froze in realization a split second before their mouths met. Julian pressed against him, softly but firmly, a quick and gentle kiss, then brushed their noses together before leaning back. His hands gripped even tighter.

Garak swallowed and blinked. This had to be a dream. He hadn’t actually woken up; Julian hadn’t come to his quarters. He was still in bed, and the doctor was still in Quark’s. Or elsewhere. Someone had contaminated his ale, and now he was hallucinating.

Julian hiccupped again, then ducked his head bashfully.

It was also marginally possible that this was real. That he’d misread the situation.

Which made it almost worse.

“You’re drunk, Doctor.”

“Call me Julian?” He didn’t let up on his hold.

Garak wanted to pull away, but he didn’t want to be rude, either. 

And his hands hadn’t been held in such a long, long time.

Thinking furiously, an explanation presented itself. He’d forgotten that alcohol consumption made humans considerably more affectionate with their friends. That must be it. Julian was an incredibly tactile person, and knowing that Garak was more taciturn, had reigned in his urge to touch the Cardassian during their normal weekly interactions. But under the influence of a chemical disinhibitor, well… apparently, this was the result. 

“Julian,” he tried. The first consonant was a little unfamiliar to his tongue, but the ‘L’ rolled off pleasantly. "Julian, what is it you came here to talk about?"

Hazel eyes blinked in bemusement. "About- About that."

"You haven’t actually said anything."

The confusion lasted for a second more, then transformed into something else. The rosy mouth turned up, and something playful glinted in Julian’s eyes. " _Oh_. Okay then. Well. I'll try to express myself better."

This time when he leaned forward, Garak knew what was coming. He still wasn't sure he could believe it, didn't have time to form any objections, and then he was being kissed again. 

Much more forcefully this time, with definite pressure to his lips. With hands that had moved to his shoulders, and his own instinctually rising up to Julian's waist. The human hummed appreciatively at that, and took it as an invitation to move closer. Garak kissed him tentatively back, feeling out of his depth and out of practice. What was happening here?

He wanted this, oh boy did he ever. But under what circumstances, at what price? 

Even as he internally quailed at the fear of compromising their long-standing relationship, he couldn’t stop himself from mirroring each move of the mouth, each whisper of breath. When Julian opened up to explore with his tongue, he allowed entrance with a pause. 

Three separate thoughts wove around each other in Garak’s muddled brain. One- his partner definitely tasted of synthale: yeasty and a little bitter. He couldn't decide if he liked it or not. Two- Julian's vast amounts of practice had not been a waste, as he was clearly very skilled and willing to share his education. And three- how hadn't Garak seen this coming?

He pulled back just as the human stepped forward, creating an awkward shuffle that resulted in Garak being caught between his amorous companion and the arm of the sofa. It pushed into his rear, bowing his body enough that it became evident Julian was enjoying their embrace to a noticeable degree.

Garak's body responded accordingly, creating a turgid pool of heat between his legs. He gripped Julian's tight waist more firmly with one hand, and let the other one travel up over the fabric-covered smooth skin and knead into the muscles along the spine.

Julian's hands caressed down his arms and back up again, one of them raising to cup his jaw and angle his head to the side. The skin on his scales was blessedly warm, nearly as much as the mouth still joining with his.

It vaguely occurred to him that he'd given in at some point, accepted the advance whether it was fiction or reality, and the temptation to accelerate the pace flooded him with adrenaline. He slid his hand into Julian's hair and pulled him deeper into the kiss.

“Mm,” the doctor purred. “I love you, Garak. I want you.”

Shock knifed through him, and he let go, stumbling around the corner of the couch. “What did you say?” the tailor asked, aware of the hiss that accompanied his words. Cooler air flooded the space around him where the human’s mammalian heat had existed moments before, making him clench his jaw.

Julian gaped at him in astonishment, his eyes clouded and mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I-- I said… That I love you.” A smile blossomed, and he stepped forward. “I do, you know. I have for some time now. I’ve just been denying it.” He reached out. “I was afraid you didn’t feel the same way, but now I think you do.”

Garak backed around the sofa, keeping space between them. He didn’t take the proffered hand. “You’re _drunk_ ,” he repeated, lacing his voice with disdain. He wasn’t sure who he was more angry with: Julian for putting him in this awkward situation, or himself, for letting him.

“Well yes, a little,” the human conceded. “But it doesn’t matter. It just gave me the courage to say what I’ve been thinking for a while now. Alcohol lowers inhibitions, you know that.”

He did, all too well. Maybe he could blame the Romulan ale for his own lapse of judgement. Maybe it was even still affecting him. “Why now, why tonight?” he groaned out. 

The question could have been aimed at either of them, but it was Julian who answered. “Because I’m tired of dating everyone else. They’re not you. I want _you,_ Garak.”

“But _why_?” Why would Julian want him? He was an imprisoned exile, practically an enemy. He couldn’t share his past, barely had a future. He was a _tailor_ , for guls sake. 

To his discomfort, Julian followed him around the couch, still trying to touch him. “Dammit, Garak, will you stop running away when I try to talk to you?”

“The last I checked, talking didn’t require _hands_ , Doctor. Or have you picked up sign language?”

“I’ll have you know that body language can be a very effective form of communication,” the human sniped in return. But he dropped back and gestured to the other side of the furniture. “If I sit down, will you, too?” Garak returned to his corner of the sofa, and Julian folded his whole body into the opposite one. He wrapped his arms around his knees and leaned to the side comfortably, facing his companion. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

Still flustered and more than a little miffed, Garak sat as straight as he could and looked away. “Better for who? I usually think better on my feet.”

Julian bent forward eagerly. “Maybe that’s part of the problem, you see? Maybe we _think_ too much when instead we should take action.” He inched forward until the Cardassian glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Haven’t you ever wanted to...well, _seize the day_?”

Of course he had. Especially when he’d been addicted to the implant. There had been many opportunities, drinks, and even people he’d seized during that time. But they’d all ended up hollow and meaningless in the morning. “Doctor,” he tried diplomatically, “I’m in no position to seize _anything_ at this time in my life, and I’d thank you not to remind me of it. My existence on this station is precarious at best, and I don’t plan on doing anything to jeopardize it.”

The human squinted his eyes in thought. “Augh.” He grabbed his head. “I need some water for this. Or caffeine.” Without asking permission, he excused himself to the replicator and ordered up a raktajino. Standing at the other end of the room and cradling the hot mug, he leaned against the wall. With a greater distance between them, he grew more bold. “I guess my plan to surprise you in the middle of the night and throw myself at you didn’t quite go as expected.”

“That’s hardly a plan at all. Although I must give you credit for at least following through.”

Julian moved to the dining table and put his drink down. “I could follow through more if you like.”

“Truly, Doctor, do you think of anything other than your own sexual gratification?”

Julian stammered and hugged himself with one arm. “That’s not what I meant,” he mumbled. “At least, not _only_ what I meant.” He fiddled with the handle of his mug. “Maybe I should go,” he said dejectedly. “This wasn’t such a good idea after all. I- I’m sorry.” He took the drink back to the replicator and vanished it while Garak tried to figure out how to respond. “I’m heading back to my quarters. I hope that… that we can still have lunch the day after tomorrow. I promise I’ll be sober then.”

“Doctor,” Garak called to him. He turned. “Julian. This isn’t a conversation I’d feel comfortable having in the replimat, or any other public place. And since you insisted on starting it here and tonight, we may as well finish it.” He nodded to the sofa. “Come sit back down.”

Julian returned, looking thoughtful. When he met Garak’s eyes, his own looked much clearer than before. “Are we always going to do this same song and dance, Garak? Advance, retreat, will he, won’t he? I’ll admit it’s been fascinating, but it’s worn me down a little, too. Can you blame me for wanting to know what it all means?”

Garak studied him with the practiced eye of an interrogator. To his surprise, he saw pain. The stiffness of the shoulders, the tic in the jaw, a hardness in the eyes of someone trying to hold back tears. Unconscious clenching and unclenching of fists. Julian was waiting to be let down. He was prepared for rejection.

And yet he sat there anyway. Bravely facing it head on, just as he’d boldly barged into Garak’s home and laid bare his heart without reservation, had charged forward into a kiss. It took a certain amount of courage to be vulnerable like that, a strength within a weakness.

A contradiction that was every bit descriptive of the human sitting before him. Simultaneously too much and too little, too forward and yet not forward enough. Breaking a lonely exile’s heart while offering to mend it.

The bitter sting of _something_ in the corner of his eyes caught Garak off guard. He blinked it away. Julian had always drawn out his sentimental side, and this time around he seemed bent on revealing it entirely. 

But Garak clung to the remaining shreds of his defenses, unwilling to let anything else escape. “No,” he answered belatedly. “I cannot blame you for wanting to know what it all means. But I cannot provide you with an answer, either.”

“What are you so _afraid_ of?” Julian burst out. “I _know_ you’re fond of me. I know you’re attracted to me; that’s been evident since the first day we met. We get along so well together, and we’ve been through so _much_. And you- don’t you-” He ran a hand down his face. “Are you saying you don’t love me back?” His face crumpled, but he kept his back straight, determined to see this through to the end. “Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll leave. That’s all I ask.”

“Of course I love you.”

Julian’s eyes went wide, his jaw slack. Garak imagined his own visage must look the same way; he certainly hadn’t meant for that to come out.

“You… you do?” The look was so yearning and beseeching that despite himself, Garak felt as if strings were pulling him forward to enfold that lithe, passionate, vibrant, yet tender and gentle body. To smooth his hair and...

It was as if a dam broke. Something cracked in Garak’s chest. His shoulders slumped. “I could do nothing _but_ love you, my dear Doctor. You saved me. You forgave me. And when all was said and done, you _stayed_ with me. Even after all the lies and the stories, after risking your life for my own, you didn’t leave. You kept up our lunches. The occasional breakfast or dinner. Invited me to accompany you to sporting and holiday events. Doctor… Julian… You have no idea how much I treasure our time together.” And how close he had come to swallowing his pride and breaking into one of those dreadful holoprograms that the younger man had been spending so much time in, just for one more hour of companionship.

Julian furrowed his brow.. He laced his fingers behind his neck, elbows on his knees. For once, he was speechless. 

In all their interactions, this was the first time Garak had succeeded in silencing his companion. It felt just as good as he had anticipated, although for completely different reasons. It wasn’t that he’d won an argument; he’d stunned the poor doctor into delightful stupefaction. Julian was folded into himself in a manner impossible for any Cardassian, and yet it was… _adorable_ , for lack of a better word. Garak decided to press on. “Between your physical assets, your intensity, and your open-mindedness, not to mention your willingness to spar over literature, I’m afraid I never stood a chance, my dear.”

Julian perked up. “I love it when you call me that. I always wondered… Is it some sort of term of endearment? At first I thought, maybe, you were treating me like a child. But then I saw you with Molly, and you called her ‘Miss O’Brien.’ And I realized I’m the only one you ever call ‘my dear doctor.’”

It _was_ a term of endearment, but Garak was reluctant to admit it. He’d caught himself using the phrase while half-delirious on the implant, and by the time it was deactivated the expression had already become an ingrained habit. So it stuck. But rather than answer, he deflected. “In return, how would you feel about referring to me as Elim?”

Julian untangled his limbs and shuffled closer. “I think that sounds fantastic. May I kiss you again, _Elim_?”

What was it with humans intertwining physical affection with verbal declarations? Must they always mix affection with sex? 

Garak held up a hand, stalling him. He was not yet ready to consummate their feelings after having just so recently shared them. But he did propose an alternative. “Julian. I would prefer to discuss this in more detail first, except you are still under the influence of alcohol. Let us wait until a more… appropriate time. But seeing as you are _here_ , and it is late, you may stay the night. I imagine you will be much clearer in the morning.”

He watched Julian mull it over. “Would I sleep on the couch? Or…” He trailed off, his head swiveling in the direction of the bedroom.

“A good host would hardly consign his guest to one of these substandard Federation sofas. You may have the bed.”

“But you- Would you-” Julian reached out a hand tentatively. He laid it on top of Garak’s. “Come to bed with me? I promise I’ll behave.”

The tailor bit his tongue. Putting off an intimate joining didn’t mean he’d never considered it before, and his mind supplied several ideas as to how he could make the pliant human ‘behave.’ The knowing smirk on Julian’s face informed him his thoughts weren’t anywhere as private as he’d imagined. Guls, how was he ever going to hide anything now? “I will join you if you like. But sleeping is _all_ that will occur.”

An impish smile bloomed. “And maybe talking?”

“Only if you don’t keep me up all night.”

Julian opened his mouth, on the verge of saying something that would probably once more test Garak’s limits, but wisely shut it again. He dropped his head in acquiescence, and they both departed for the other room.

Garak pulled something out of a drawer. “I’d hate for you to wrinkle such a becoming outfit. Would you like some nightclothes? I happen to have a set in your size that I haven’t put out for sale yet.”

With an amused grin, Julian accepted the pile and ran a hand over the fabric. “They’re so soft. I love them.” He pinched a piece of the shirt and rubbed it between his fingers. “But awfully thick, and you keep your quarters several degrees above the temperature of my own. I might overheat.” He hugged the ensemble to himself as if he was afraid Garak would take it away after that. “Could I pay you so I can take them home, and just… sleep in my briefs tonight?”

“No need to give me any latinum. Consider it a gift.” But there was no way Garak could have a mostly naked Dr. Bashir in bed with him. “As for tonight, let me find you something light.” The tailor searched through another drawer until he found an alternative: a summer tunic that he never had the use for once Terok Nor became Deep Space Nine. The accompanying pants would be too wide for the human’s slim hips, but the shirt was long enough to extend to mid-thigh. “Here, try this.”

“Okay, sure. This looks much thinner and lighter.” Without any warning, Julian set aside the other items and lifted the hem of his shirt to tug it up over his head and reveal a smooth, coppery chest composed of intriguing angles and hollows. Unaware of its effect on Garak, he accepted the new garment and slipped it over his head, letting the material settle on his shoulders and drape around his form. The neckline was scandalously wide, the waist too straight to hug his shape, cuffs hanging loose from his wrists. 

It was still provocatively, _dangerously_ attractive.

And to top it off, Julian bent over and divested himself of his trousers so that he was clad in nothing but the tunic and (presumably) his underwear. Unless he preferred to forgo that particular item on date nights, which Garak didn’t really want to think about. But no, he’d stated that he was wearing some just a moment ago, right? 

He regained his composure as he watched Julian stride over to the bed and pull back a blanket. “Are you coming?” He seemed completely oblivious to the turmoil roiling only a meter away inside the poor Cardassian. 

Garak moved around to the other side of the bed and climbed in. He took a few deep and steadying breaths. The pair sat next to each other awkwardly for a few seconds, but then Garak slid down and Julian followed. 

On their backs and staring at the ceiling, they lay silent except for a few sighs and twitches.

Garak decided there was no possible way he could have predicted how the night’s events would have turned out. Yet, in hindsight, he really couldn’t picture it any other way. He wouldn’t _want_ it to have gone any other way. 

He prepared to bridge the small space between them and take Julian’s hand when the human rolled over onto his side to face him.

“Garak… Elim. Would it be alright if, seeing as we’ve already kissed, and I said I love you and you said you loved me back, and now I’m wearing your clothes and lying with you in your bed…” How did he get that all out in one breath? “Might I hold you? Just, you know, like a hug, for sleeping? Is that okay?”

The waves of radiant heat leaching off his mammalian body had already begun to toast Garak’s side, and it was all he could do not to pull the doctor over himself. To be warm, _truly_ warm, and _held_? Something hopeful and affectionate wriggled inside him. “Yes, Julian. You may.”

He scooted closer and wrapped one arm around Garak’s chest, using it to draw them together. Julian’s head joined him on the same pillow, nuzzling into his neck. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, one leg curled over his and tucked a foot between his calves. A hot, wet breath skimmed over the scales of his shoulder just above the collar, and lips pressed into his scales. “Goodnight, love.” A second press, then a sigh and slow release of muscles into Garak’s side.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

What in the world was he going to do with this tomorrow? For once in his life, Garak hadn’t the foggiest clue.

The fact that Julian was there with him somehow made it less frightening. Yes, he was moving into territories unknown. He’d never had a human paramour, never admitted love to another individual, much less been involved in anything more than a casual fling (or illicit affair). But he knew that Julian would be patient with him. Understanding. Caring. And when the right time came, unquestionably willing.

Garak lay there in the dark, wide awake and motionless, nerves on edge and blood humming, and waited for morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Between observing Sid’s mannerisms during SidCity and Sid saying that he doesn't blush, I hope I’m portraying Julian in a more natural way!


End file.
